


Death

by Akaisha_Loire



Series: Children of Violence [1]
Category: Fear the Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bar/Pub, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Alternate Universe - Tattoos, Anthology, Barista!Troy, Established Relationship, Farmer!Troy, Hustler!Nick, Hustler!Troy, Lord!Nick, M/M, More tags to be added, One Shot Collection, Peasant!Nick, Pool & Billiards, Prince!Troy, Tattoo Artist!Nick, Youtuber!Nick, Youtuber!Troy, minor!dubcon elements, outsider pov
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-28
Updated: 2018-10-05
Packaged: 2019-07-18 18:40:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,294
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16124435
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Akaisha_Loire/pseuds/Akaisha_Loire
Summary: A one-shot collection, each chapter has its own individual summary, so please see the chapters for full summary!





	1. Historical!AU (T)

**Author's Note:**

> Jiminnienuggets (channiekangaroo on tumblr) re-blogged a post the other day, featuring one hundred different ship tropes. I took it on as a challenge to complete all 100 prompts in different one shots. Each will have a varying length, theme, and rating, so please see each individual chapter for it's summary. 
> 
> Titles of my collections will come from the Four horsemen of the Apocalypse.
> 
> Thank you! And I hope you enjoy!
> 
> Chapter 1 Historical!AU Peasant!Nick Farmer!Troy
> 
> The Ottos are above his station, but not so far that he need prostrate himself before them. Troy seems to think different, and puts a boot to his knee, forcing him to the ground with a cheerful little, “Much better."

He wiped his brow, sighing, looking to the horizon as the sun began to crawl it’s way up.

This was the third time in as many days they had come across bodies. Bodies, inexplicably marked with numbers across their foreheads, left in the place where the sun would mark the passage of time.

It was Nick’s job to clean them up. His job because of what he was, or more specifically, what he did, namely, steal mushrooms from the kitchens of the king; mushrooms that had the ability to cause one to see visions. He couldn’t help but eat them, had been doing it for years, in fact, until his mother caught on. Each bite made him feel warm, like he was wrapped in a blanket softer than wool, his head lost in clouds, soaring with the birds. It wasn’t a stretch to say he was addicted, what other explanation was there to why he risked his neck for just one small bite.

This was his mother’s punishment, cleaning away the bodies of the dead, primarily nameless, until they weren’t. One was named Mike, a trader from down the ways, he had relations with the Otto clan which seemed appropriate as the whispers that normally followed these days all pointed to the Otto Clan.

Cattle ranchers by trade, the eldest of the two Otto sons held a high position in the king's court; an adviser. The youngest of the two tended to the cattle, and to their aging father. There was no wife, no mother, stories say she flung herself from a cliff when the tides were highest after indulging in two men’s worth of mead. Even more rumors claim that the youngest son had cared for her, had been at her side when she took that plunge, forced to watch his mother disappear into nothingness.

They were only rumors, of course, gossip when there was nothing of interest in the days of the royals.

As far as Nick knew, Troy Otto, was a farm-boy if you’d ever met one, faithful to his families fields, and dedicated to his cattle. Nick rarely saw the elder Otto man, but knew he was unwed, happy to dedicate his life to the fields.

The day Troy Otto comes to help is a startling one, as no one was keen to help clear away bodies that had sat overnight. Even more startling was the casual way he greets Nick, by name, as if he knew it without introduction.

In the tier of the common folk, Nick is a peasant. Bottom of the barrel. His family doesn’t farm, nor raise cattle, he has one sister to be wed off, preferably to someone of status, but they have nothing to offer. His mother, always eager, suggests schooling, teaching the youngest children reading and writing. Her ideals that this extend to young women is often met with skepticism, educate the men, the village says, not the women who will caretake the homes. They’re like pariahs in their little corner of the world.

Dirty, unwashed, in comparison to Troy Otto who has far less dirt smudged over his nose, and wears pants of a thicker fabric then burlap.

Essentially, there’s no reason for Troy Otto to saunter up to him so casual and great, “Afternoon, Nicky.”

It’s a statement of fact, as by the dial, it’s well after the noon mark, as well as a greeting.

The Ottos are above his station, but not so far that he need prostrate himself before them. Troy seems to think different, and puts a boot to his knee, forcing him to the ground with a cheerful little, “Much better,” sang like a chorus of cherubs.

Nick growls, annoyed by the audacity of a man whose barely even better than he is in the scheme of things. Annoyed as he circles, tapping a book, bound in leather against his hip, tsking. “I’ve watched you, Nick, such a talent, in and out of the castle so quickly. Almost as silent as the dead...fascinating..” he coos, a mother to a babe.

Troy stops, crouching down, over the body that Nick had been working to dispose of, reaching forward, pinching Nick’s cheeks in the grip of his calloused fingers. “Tell me, Nicky, how long does it take, to get in and out? How do the guards not see you? How do you do it?”

For the briefest of seconds Nick considers telling him, just to get the smell of rotting flesh away from his nose, instead, what comes out is vile.

“Eat shit,” he curses, narrowing his eyes.

Troy laughs, reaching for the length of Nick’s hair, tugging it at the nape of his neck, forcing his head back. “I’m being nice to you, Nicky, you should be nice to me.”

Nick glares, hard enough to start a fire against Troy’s skull but the man does not budge. He doesn’t move, or change his stance until Nick makes a move, diving over the body beneath them, grabbing Troy’s notebook, losing a snatch of his hair in the process. Troy is furious, yelling for it, as Nick tries to scramble to his feet, tearing the parchment clean from the twine binding, tossing it into the air as he runs down the path towards the main homes of the village.

Troy is on him in seconds, tackling him into the dry brush of the last season, forcing his head against the dirt, a trig digging into his scalp as he refuses to yield, twisting and turning to keep the book out of his grasp just a bit longer. There’s an elbow to Troy’s chin, a fist to Nick’s cheek that smarts, they give each other their share of marks; badges of honor in a glorious brawl.

Then it’s over, faster then it started, Nick throwing Troy off to lay in his own share of brush to catch his breath. They lay there, a short scad of time, the chirp of two birds, and then Troy is rising, laughing, smiling, turning to him in his mirth. “Think we can be friends now.”

Friends, Nick scoffs.

Friends, a title that means three bottles of milk on their doorstep every third day. Friends, meaning a bottle of warm brewed mead appearing with bread that would otherwise cost them the entirety of their coin. Friends, that meant when raiders came to pillage Nick stood beside Troy, sword at the ready, untrained as he is, ready to have his back when no one else would.

Friend is knowing that those raiders don’t die, but become new experiments, experiments where Troy pokes them with his sharpened steel, tied to posts at the time station, watching the shadows move as the life leaves them. Knowing, but never stopping, that’s what it is to be Troy’s friend.

Knowing, and taking the chance when presented to run the patriarch of the Otto family clean through, right at the heart because Troy never could.

There’s hate, love, a companionship that only could form between two people who saw the evils in the world and embrace them. A balance. A hate. A love. A passion; gold coins on scales of the castle treasure room.

Partnership is standing by Troy’s side when the wars come, the fires burning their village, their homes to the ground. The cattle slaughtered, the chickens taken as penance for sins they’d not committed.

Nick makes a choice after the wars are gone, their dead buried. His mom would have him wed, a lady from the neighboring kingdom with goods they could use, tools to rebuild their measly abodes. Nick refuses, because being friends means never abandoning Troy, like his mother, his father, he had no one when so many people had everyone.

His mom has family, a daughter, a husband, and soon a son-in-law once Alicia marries. She doesn’t need a Nick, nobody does, nobody but Troy. He can go to a faraway kingdom, one where chaos reigned and he could prosper. One where the shallow looks of his loved ones wouldn’t watch him as he indulged in the fruits of natures. As he stood idly by the slaughters committed by Troy.

They were children of violence; children of chaos.

And somewhere out there, was a world for them, where all they needed was each other.

As long as they were together, they could face the world’s plaques, and Nick was more than happy with that.

He’d be a peasant for the rest of his days, as long as he was one by Troy’s side.


	2. Royal AU (M)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prince Troy just likes to indulge in games. Lord Nicholas might be the funnest game of all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt #2 Is up! A royalty AU, I think everyone's favorite trope. 
> 
> This chapter does contain minor!dubcon elements, in kind of a blink and you miss it, moments. But, I thought I'd offer fair warning, so, MINOR DUBCON!
> 
> I have to say, I think this has been one of my favorites that I've written thus far. I hope ya'll all enjoy.

Nobility was fickle

Anyone that bore a crown merely needed to snap their fingers to have a wench at their feet. He learned this the practical way, by snapping his fingers; the ladies of the court came running.

Troy had built himself a reputation as a cruel man with a heart of ice simply because he took women to bed with promise of a crown, only to take it away. It was an experiment, really, to see how far a woman would go to be a princess. The answer? Far.

One woman had killed for him, a knight that had stepped on his boot, angered him really because they were his favorite cowhides. Another had gotten herself killed, stowing away in the carriage of the neighboring king, Walker’s, carriage. It was amusing, entertaining, and educational; as a man of science that was absolutely crucial. Insufferable nobility, in his eyes, were as disposable as soiled sheets.

He supposed, if one of those women could keep his interest he would wed her, but they didn’t. He had even timed their orgasms when he’d grown bored of having them perform menial tasks; had them down to an exact number. The average woman achieved pleasure in exactly eighteen minutes and twenty-two seconds. A virgin woman met her pinnacle faster, at just ten minutes and fifty four seconds. The one man he tried was even faster, reaching his climax at four minutes and two seconds.

Life is predictable when one was a scientist.

Even his father was down to a timed science. He’ll hold a ball every thirty days, in search of a wife for him, or his brother, Jake, in hopes of his sons would marry into wealth. His father, who believes war was coming, and taxed the citizens with promises to have a barricade raised when the days of the end came, desperately tries to find someone to marry his sons to. Simultaneously, he uses the taxes, not for a wall, the finest liquors, the world had to offer. 

They wear a crown, so they may do as they please.

If he wants his knights to fight to the death for his entertainment then so should it be. If his father can drink himself to the grave, Troy was allowed to indulge in this.

He knows the days of uprising will be upon them soon; he’s been ready for years. He never expects that view to change in one evening by a young man, dressed in an array of colors, blues and greens and oranges, that stands him out from the monochromatic garb of the other nobles at his father’s fifth ball of the season. It’s not just his look, but his movements, sheltered, cautious, almost paranoid, as if he’s expecting someone to stab him just by looking at him. 

He’s tetchy, like those who crush leaves in their tea for hallucinogenic effect, but when prompted he suddenly becomes poised, perfect, the picture of nobility that he was raised in.

Troy wants to destroy him.

He seeks him out in the gardens, away from the prying eyes of the attendees and has his way with the man against the palace wall to minimal protest. The man is warm, his skin heated under Troy’s hand, his body tight in ways that a woman can’t emulate without an natural wetness. Troy times it, every second of their coupling, rushed and hurried among bushes. It takes a frustrating long thirty three minutes and twenty six seconds for the man to find his completion.

Lord Nicholas, son of Lady Madison, from the city of Lost Angels where magic is said to still reside in the land. Titled, and silent, and angry, he leaves Troy with a bruise to his cheek that he caresses as a keepsake.

The next ball comes, and Lord Nicholas dresses as garishly as before, in golds and blues and greens that clash in the sea of ivorys and pearls. It’s the gardens again, a vexing forty-one minutes exactly for Nicholas to reach that pinnacle of pleasure, and Troy wants to hurt him for daring not to find pleasure faster.

Troy has his own completion to approximately fifteen minutes and twenty seconds, unless he’s enjoying himself, in which case it’s thirteen minutes and twelve seconds. With Nicholas, it’s at the middle ground of fourteen minutes and forty-five seconds. Even verbalizations are recorded in his notes, when women say ‘yes’ or cry to the heavens in their ecstasy. Troy doesn’t do the same, Nicholas is much like him, and stays silent, merely laying against the stone of the wall, silent, except for two grunts, both times, one less sound then Troy himself makes.

Their third coupling shows a darker side of Troy. He wants to hurt Nicholas, humiliate him in the act of sex. When he takes him, he puts a hand around his throat, squeezes till Nicholas is gasping for breath until Troy lets off. He repeats it over and over, moving in time with the motion into Nicholas’ body. It’s the first time he can say he’s spoken during sex, and murmurs, “You’re nothing but a whore, Nicky,” to great effect. Nicholas achieves orgasm in exactly seventeen minutes and eight seconds, an interesting new record.

The fourth coupling has Lady Madison’s eyes on him as he leads Nicholas out of the ballroom, to the library instead. This time, he lays Nicholas on his back against the wood of the oak that once occupied a great space in the market, now smoothed to the very surface. It’s the first time he tries something different, using his fingers, and warming oil from the bath. When Nicholas attempts to touch himself during the act, Troy grabs his hair, and yanks his head back till his neck is bare to him. This is when Nicholas, like the women, gasps out the word yes in approval of the situation. It’s also the first time that Nicholas fights back, biting Troy’s arm the moment it’s within reach. Troy retaliates, narrowing his eyes, entering Nicholas roughly, slamming into him with the means to hurt, shaking the oak beneath them.

The word yes becomes a prayer that night as Nicholas repeats it over and over with each harsh push into his body. His own hand grabs, and tugs at Troy’s hair till his scalp smarts, and he growls in his irritation.

When it’s done, Troy notes that their coupling lasts preciously forty-three minutes and fifty six seconds, and in that time Nicholas reached orgasm exactly twice. The first at twenty minutes and three seconds, and the second just before Troy at the end of the act.

The fifth coupling is not his doing. He is in a carriage, traveling to the kingdom of Lost Angels to speak with the queen. He acts as delegation for the kingdom, traveling with Lord Nicholas and Lady Madison, as Alicia, her eligible daughter, has taken residence at his palace, at the side of his brother; a courtship should be announced soon. As proprietary states, Lady Madison travels in a separate carriage, leaving him to be with Lord Nicholas who takes initiative to climb into his lap just ten minutes into their travel. He’s fast, and efficient, and opens Troy’s trousers before pushing his own just far enough down to bare his entrance to him. He sits in Troy’s lap, and takes what he wants, just as brutally as Troy always has.Nicholas rests his back against Troy’s chest, rocking the carriage faster and faster with every movement til the horses are making snorts of annoyance.

It’s here that Troy hears himself, pulling Nicholas back against him by his throat, squeezing, biting at his ear till it bleeds, “You’re mine, Nicky,” he hisses. “No one shall touch you, or I’ll kill you.”

“I don't wanna die,” he gasps, turning his head just enough that their lips meet for the first time in a swap of exchange that’s more tongues than actual lips. “I don’t want you to die either.”

It’s a confusing statement but becomes clear when they arrive at their destination. Lady Madison has sold him to her people, people who have despised his father’s rule for years, but had no means to act. It’s Nicholas that puts his head on the line in front of his Queen, begging Troy’s release in exchange for the head of King Jeremiah, who is the root of all this suffering. Troy is more than okay if they take his head, but doesn’t want to leave Nicholas alone, not like this. He doesn’t know what the play will be but the young lord traverses back to his kingdom to attempt delegation with his father.

Lady Madison makes the trek as well, breaking protocol by insisting they share a carriage, sitting pointedly next to her son, a not so subtle look to her eye, that said she knew what kind of nights him and her percious son got up to.

In the end, Madison, ever the lady doesn’t have the strength to end the life of a King, but Nicholas does. Diplomacy through violence, Troy supposes, but it serves its purpose when Jake ascends to the throne as King, appeasing those who would seek war. Alicia is his Queen consort, and some days Troy wonders if that was not Lady Madison’s plan from the start, a bid to make her daughter Queen. 

He has a sick satisfaction when Lord Nicholas informs his mother he’s staying in the Broke Jaw kingdom, with Troy. She’s practically a steamed green with how angry she becomes by this news. Nicholas could never be his bride, by his father’s law, but he could be a consort, a prince consort, at the very least, more titled then Lady Madison will ever be. He think she should be honored to have both her children in the royal household; she doesn’t see it that way.

Their sixth coupling is in Troy’s bed, and he’s determined to make it last as long as he can. He’s never felt in love, but he thinks he loves Nicholas, his Nicky, and he likes to think Nicholas loves him back when they move together in tandem beneath the sheets. He whimpers, and pleads, and begs for more pleasure, and Troy hears himself do the same, pleading with Nicholas to never leave him, to stay with him always. Those feelings are returned with sharp nails in his shoulder as Nicholas holds him close,demanding Troy never stray, though he hasn’t, since that first ball.

Troy, as a prince, will do all in his power to keep Nicholas here, even if he has to chain him to the bedpost, he’ll keep him.

When they reach their climax together, at one hour, and two minutes, sixteen seconds, he knows he doesn’t have to, because he’s already chained Nicholas’ heart, as as Nicholas chained his.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you all enjoyed! All kudos and comments are super appreciated!
> 
> Thank you for reading!
> 
> Up Next: Tattoo/Modern!AU


	3. Tattoo!AU (T)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Troy can say, this was absolutely the scariest thing he’s ever done in his life, but between him and Nick, it was also the most intimate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt number 3, which was originally a modern AU that I kind of molded into a tattoo AU for the odd urge to picture Nick in body art!
> 
> So I hope you all enjoy!!

Troy had known Nick Clark for the better part of two years. In fact, he considered Nick to be his best friend; or his only friend.

He knew Nick was an ex-junkie, heroin, not that he could tell.

Nick, around age 21, had traded one needle for another. To hide the scars of his past sins, Nick had covered them up with colorfully colored art of his own creation. His very first was a zombie themed motif on his left forearm, that he said signified rising from the dead, in the center of all the chaos was one dark silhouette covered in blood, that Nick said was him.

There was a phoenix on his right forearm, in full array of rainbow colors, springing from the dark ashes of his wrist upwards. 

Nick seemed to have a fondness for mythical creatures. He added a siren, mermaid, on his right bicep, swimming along with a pet kraken. Nick said this one signified his ex-girlfriend Gloria, and he played the part of the kraken. She OD’d at just 18 years old, died, in a church, alone, while he was out scoring their next hit. Nick said he’d felt guilty for the longest time, because if he’d stayed with her, maybe she wouldn’t have overdone it.

A dragon wraps around his left bicep, a woman dressed in white clasped in its talons. This one was addiction, a raging beast, the woman was the white lady, a street name for heroin; this was one of Nick’s favorite pieces.

His back was even more of a masterpiece, a labyrinth, representing Nick’s own mind, filled with manticore, and chimera, and all manner of creatures that Troy can’t name. It’s Troy’s favorite piece, the one he likes to touch, running his fingers through the dips and curves of the tight corners of Nick’s art; a prison of his own making.

Nick has turned his obsession with his body, his art, into a career that Troy can respect. He has a shop in San Diego, strictly custom pieces that people travel from San Francisco to commission him for. Nick even had the honor to tattoo a few celebrities who blogged about him on social media, sending the crowds flocking to him, wanting his work.

They don’t live together, but sometimes, Troy wishes they did, because Nick’s work also keeps him very busy, always drawing, always inking. Troy gets off the ranch regularly to see him, but Nick is always buried in inks, buried in clients, paying him big money to permanently mark them. Sometimes, Troy thinks, if he wants Nick’s attention he’ll have to get inked himself. The downside is that it involves an needle, and Troy’s never been particularly fond of needles after a nasty experience as a child where a nurse couldn’t find a vein and poked him no less than twenty-three times. He’d yelled at her, called her a list of abhorrent things before his mother scolded him, locked him in his bedroom despite his illness.

Needles were a no go.

He loved Nick. He loved spending time with Nick, but sometimes he wanted to just stab Nick’s customers just to get Nick all to himself. To think they needed a good solid plague to wipe out half the world’s population just so Nick was his and his alone.

It's an insane thought.

But less insane then the thing that pops into his mind, the absolute way to monopolize Nick’s time for a few hours, completely alone and to hold a piece of him forever; Troy has to get a tattoo.

Nick thinks he’s joking, clearly, when he suggests it, but goes along with it anyways, agreeing to design a piece specifically for Troy. He decides to design something for Troy’s bicep, shoulder region, claiming it will hurt the least; not that it won’t hurt, it’ll just hurt less.

It only takes a day for Nick to come back to him with an idea.

The piece is gorgeous. The silhouette in the center is clearly Troy, in shadow, standing in the middle of Broke Jaw ranch. He can spot his house, the main home, the horse stalls, and even the cattle. At the bottom, acting as a border is Native American imagery, specifically, Tipai-Ipai, the owners of the ranch originally. Nick boasts that Walker helped him design that part, enthusiastically so when Nick informed him it was for a tattoo for Troy. Those designs are the only ones that appear in color, tinged in specific places to make them pop, the rest appears to be in black and white.

Nick doesn’t think he’ll go through with it, but Troy is determined. Nick says it could take anywhere from eight to ten hours to do the piece, and Troy is too desperate to pass up the alone time. Knowing Nick gets him in fast, within the next week, which is incredibly fast; especially since Nick’s usual wait time to get in is five to six months.

Sunday is the day. Nick is normally closed on Sundays, so there’s no calls, no one to bother him and, more importantly, them.

It’s terrifying. 

Troy can’t say he’s ever been scared in his life, but the moment he takes a seat in the chair, he’s scared outside of his mind. In fact, it’s like he’s watching this experience happening from the ceiling, while simultaneously unable to escape from his own body. Nick is a professional though, from the moment Troy sits down, he’s not a friend, or a best friend, but a client. With Nick just in a tank as he works, Troy focuses on Nick’s own work, admiring his arms as he preps the stencil to apply to Troy’s arm. “You’ve got to relax,” Nick tells him, when Troy exhales sharply, his knuckles white over the handle of the leather chair.

He’s wearing black gloves, those same black gloves he wears every time Troy is in the shop, visiting, watching him work; have to keep everything sterile.

“If you wanna back out, now's the time,” Nick says, as he colors in certain parts with markers, the tips cold against Troy’s bare arm. Slowly. Each agonizing draw of the felt against his flesh further reminder that if he doesn’t say stop, Nick won’t.

“Not backing out,” Troy answers determinedly, closing his eyes, resting back as the buzz of the tattoo gun meets his ears.

He’s scared, shaking, gripping the arm of the chair like a lifeline. He feels one bead of sweat slip down from his hairline as the machine inches forward. The fear is real, and suddenly he understands all those people that flinch when they think something bad is about to happen.

“Here we go,” Nick warns with a gentle tone just seconds before the needle touches Troy’s arm.

Surprisingly, it doesn’t hurt, and the air goes out of him, a balloon deflating; Nick chuckles.

That is, it doesn’t hurt initially. After the first half hour passes, he’s ready to strangle Nick as the tender flesh of his arm is worked, prodded, over and over to inject his skin with the ink. There’s a rhythm to it. Nick moves the gun over a space, then wipes away the ink, over and over, for one hour, then two, then three, and four, all in silence as Nick works.

He’s meticulous, silent, his full focus on his art, on Troy.

That attention alone makes him forget the feeling, the pain in his arm, in favor of a dull tingling in the back of his skull. That feeling that seeps down his spine, up to the top of his head, making him want to close his eyes in relaxation.

He’s not sure how much time passes at that world in between pain and relaxation. He’s just floating, laying in that chair as Nick colors him permanently. Troy is sure his eyes are closed when it’s over because he doesn’t see Nick coming. Doesn’t know he’s approaching him till his lips are on Troy’s, kissing him, nice and deep, like his deepest fantasies pictured. Slow, open mouth, with Troy sucking on his bottom lip, using his left hand to pull Nick close by his nape. He wants him, and now he knows Nick wants him too.

“Not here,” Nick says, pulling away, Troy follows, cursing in irritation when Nick walks fully away from him. He gathers supplies, working a jelly of some kind over Troy’s arm before carefully bandaging it, down to the elbow, where the work ends.”You know, you coulda just asked me out, you didn’t have to get a tattoo.”

Troy looks at him, looks at the sly little smirk on Nick’s face as he starts to clean up his tools. “Would you have said yes? The Nicky I know would want me to work for it.”

The smile widens and that’s enough of an answer.

Troy can say, this was absolutely the scariest thing he’s ever done in his life, but between him and Nick, it was also the most intimate. Nick knows he’s afraid of needles, knows he hates them, never would have done this if not to get Nick’s attention and yet, he’s glad he did. It’s an odd feeling. Nick was the first person to ever make him feel fear.

“You’ll need regular care on that, so I guess you’ll have to stay at my place,” Nick tells him. “A week, maybe a bit longer.”

Troy reaches for the mischievous little shit, grabbing him around the wrist, fingers curling around the rainbow phoenix feathers, Troy’s own work smarting at the sudden hard movement. He pulls, tugs Nick to him, sealing their lips together again, at which point, Troy growls, “I’m going to make you regret that offer.”

Nick smirks. “You’re welcome to try.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading. Every comment and kudo is extremely appreciated!
> 
> Up Next: Coffeeshop!AU


	4. Coffeeshop AU (T)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's a Starbucks in south San Diego, “SoCal”, that Nick is obsessed with.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's my take on a coffeeshop! AU, Trick style. I tried to avoid the usual tropes within this trope, so I hope you all enjoy.
> 
> For this one, I decided to go with Alicia's POV, that way I get to use more than just alternating between Troy and Nick!

There's a Starbucks in south San Diego, “SoCal”, that Nick is obsessed with.

Alicia has had Starbucks maybe a thousand times in her lifetime, so she personally knows, no Starbucks is better than another, even if sometimes one barista puts more whip cream then another, or a barista didn’t properly combine your drink, so you got these bursts of flavor that had you stirring your cup.

It would almost be funny, if she didn’t know her brother’s addictive personality. He’d been clean six months now, he was going to group and had one of those nifty charms they gave to recovering addicts. To be frank, it’s like he traded in heroin for coffee. This wouldn’t be such a bad thing, except that the Starbucks in question is two plus hours from where they live in Los Angeles, and even longer when Nick takes the Surfliner down.

There’s a system to his going to San Diego, usually on the weekdays, and he’s usually there for six to eight hours, which makes sense, she thinks. If you’re going to travel the distance, it’s best to do something more than just Starbucks, but then she goes with him, and he does go to Starbucks and that’s where he stays with the excuse that he’s brainstorming his novel. One of the things he wanted to do upon leaving rehab was write a book, and apparently, this Starbucks addiction was an important step.

By the third visit, she gets it, or specifically, she sees it; him. A barista, named Troy, is always there when they visit. He’s a sadist, according to the regulars, which she thinks is a generalization based on the fact that he purposely never spells anyone’s name correctly, and goes out of his way to spell them wrong even though the cup has those little stickers with their names if they use the app. He’ll write, in permanent marker, a misspelling of the name, usually with weird uses of the letter ‘y’. Her name had been spelled Alycia, and Alicya, and even Elycia because why not.

It takes up to the third visit to notice Nick’s own cup says ‘Nicky’ with a winky emoji next to it.

When there’s a lull, as there always is at Starbucks, Nick spends his time at the counter, talking to Troy, and Alicia is a good enough sister not to eavesdrop despite the curiosity killing her inside. Nick leans against the counter, in that move that says, I’m casual, but also, notice how I’m standing, because I’m flirting; it’s a careful move, calculated, one she’s surprised Nick knows. Both men laugh together, often, and most of the time, when a customer interrupts, Troy glares, his eyes saying, are you fucking kidding me.

Troy is the one to ask Nick to dinner, and Nick practically forgets about her, tailing along behind the barista the second his shift is over. Alicia follows all the way to the pizza parlor they choose, getting a seat nearby to watch them. The waitress seems to catch on to her watching and asks, “Ex-boyfriend?”

“Brother,” Alicia clarifies and the waitress seems to accept that and goes about her way.

She just watches them. Watches Nick do every flirting move in the book, completely unintentionally. Nick leans forward when Troy talks, he puts his arm behind Troy’s chair, and plays with his hair. He toys at his fingers, and smiles and laughs, and Troy does the same. They’re like watching a waltz, where both want to lead and neither knows how to dance. It’s a disaster, really, but Nick is also happy, really happy; happier than Alicia can ever recall when drugs weren’t involved.

The fourth time she goes by herself--well, she actually drags Matt along with her--and catches Troy before his shift, urging him to have a drink with her before he has to get to work. “You’re Nicky’s sister, I remember you,” he says, and casts a sidelong look to Matt. It doesn’t sit right with Alicia, but she doesn’t think her brother would date a racist.

“You’re dating my brother.”

“Not yet,” he smiles, and he must have quite the luck with the ladies because she’ll admit, the smile is disarming, charming and charismatic. At the same time, it gives her a weird Ted Bundy sort of vibe, he was a nice guy too, apparently. What could there be, hiding under Troy’s nice smile? “Maybe when he moves here..”

“Nick isn’t moving here,” she says, in statement of fact, and Troy smiles, even wider. “He’s not, is he?”

Troy shrugs, standing up, signally the end of the conversation.

Nick comes in not even five minutes after Troy starts his shift, greeting him enthusiastically, asking for his regular before spotting her and Matt, frowning at them. “What are you doing here?”

“It’s San Diego, Nick,” she answers, and he nods as if to say, yeah, It’s San Diego, what’s there to do here? “What are you doing here?” she shoots back and Nick, this time, shrugs.

“My therapy..” he tries, as if Alicia doesn’t know--granted, she kind of forgot in the whirlwind of her own life--that he’s down to once a month therapies now. She remembers when the one therapist, Claudia, that he liked, made the move from Inglewood rehabilitation to a facility in San Diego. Alicia remembers that he was making regular trips to San Diego because he used to bitch about them every time he had to, but it had been either that or a new therapist in LA, and he didn’t think there’d be one he liked, so San Diego he went. That had been at least two or three months before his Starbuck trips started, and he hadn’t gone to see her since Alicia started traveling with him; it was a pathetic excuse.

Claudia kept them apprised of Nick’s progress, and Alicia knows for a fact that Claudia took Nick down to once a month appointments, standing, every 12th of the month--that’s the date their mom had marked on the calendar with little gold stars--and if she read her phone right, it was only the 8th.

“Not racist is he?” Matt chirps, half inquisitive, half teasing.

“He’s getting better,” Nick says in answer. “Learning…”

Alicia looks to Matt before kicking a chair out for Nick. “Tell me about him.”

“I mean..there’s not much to tell…” Nick hums, lowering into the seat.

“Nicky is my stalker,” Troy answers, bringing the hot coffee, personally delivering it to Nick, before sauntering back behind the counter. “Off at two.”

“I came here with Claudia the first time, she wanted to take our talk out into the city, see the sites as we talk, distract me, I guess,” he says, cradling his coffee. “I don’t know how it really got started. Troy just happened to always be my barista every time we came in.”

“Don’t lie to her, Nicky,” Troy calls from behind the espresso machine.

Alicia looks to him then to Nick, eyebrow raised. “He wrote junkie on my cup, I told him to pull the stick out of his cunt, Claudia told me not to engage, but, you know me…”

Alicia hummed, because she did, and it would be her brother that would make a friend by hurling crass insults at each other.

“I don’t know...I just kept coming and one day, Troy walked right up to me and asked what my fucking problem was. He said he saw me watching, I told him he was watching me watch, and then he gave me a dirty look and…”

“And he threatened to stab me in the eye with a spoon,” Troy fills in, laughing. “Who stabs someone in the eye with a _spoon_? At the very least use a fork.”

“Shut up and work, asshole,” Nick snaps, all smiles, genuinely happier, even happier than the one Christmas Alicia had on memory where they were all together before their dad died, before the depression hit the hardest. That was the same year Nick got a Playstation and Alicia got her first makeup kit. For Nick, this is his Christmas morning, and Troy has brought that smile to his face.

“So, San Diego, huh?”

Nick hums, looking towards Troy whose turned to deliver a drink to the drive thru. “San Diego.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! I hope you all enjoyed! As always, comments and kudos are appreciated!
> 
> Up Next: Bar/Restaurant AU


	5. Bar/Restaurant AU (T)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nick Clark was a hustler.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt #5: a Bar/Restaurant AU. Honestly, this is probably my shortest story yet, because I wasn't sure what to do with it when Troy doesn't drink, and Nick doesn't seem like a particularly big drinker, so getting them into a bar setting was quite the challenge, so I worked with what I had. But I guess thats what makes it all a challenge!
> 
> I hope you all enjoy it!

Nick Clark was a hustler.

Whether it was men or women, he portrayed a picture of an easy target, probably because when he hustled he wore his short sleeve shirts, wore the scars of long abandoned track marks like badges of honor. Anyone with a discerning eye could tell he hadn’t used in years—in fact it had been almost six years since the last time he shot up—but most bar goers didn’t obtain a discerning eyes. They equipped their beer goggles and targeted the junkie as easily as as he targeted them.

Nick is good at pool; great at it. It’s a skill he picked up in rehab, a way to disconnect from the high of heroin. Maybe it’s like trading one addiction for another, because he doesn’t think he could stop hustling, no matter what, when it’s such easy money.

The formula is simple, target tourist bars, billiard halls in his home city of Los Angeles, Santa Barbara, and San Diego. Anaheim in particular is perfect for adults trying to escape their children on a Disney vacation; they tote the most money. Once a bar is chosen he scoops out the patrons, eyeing those who are in groups, they’re the ones ready to posture in front of their friends, they’re the big tickets; with targets settled it’s a matter of losing his pocket change. A ten dollar game here, a fifteen bet there, missing easy ricochet shots in favor of the big payout.

The next step is luring his whale in, playing and losing the first game, easy bet at twenty each, and then double or nothing them, so they’re up to eighty. When he loses that one victory is assured with just a simpering act of one last game which they can never resist an easy three hundred, neither can he. The look of disbelief when he takes it all is always so satisfying.

On the rare occasions when he’s eyed up like a piece of meat it’s as simple as flexing a muscle here or bending a bit further over his cue. Men are always quick to want to get behind him to show him how to make a shot, they’re also the ones more likely to bet him higher, as well as put a night with his company on the table; they never win.

San Diego is an interesting place, harder to pick a target. Close enough to the border for people to play like they don’t know English but the joke is on them when he knows Spanish. They’re smart though, figure out he’s a hustler fast and walk away before he can take them for all they’re worth.

Nick is used to being the hunter not the prey so it surprises him when a man approaches him after he’s lost his fourth game with nothing but a soda. He saw this man when he walked in, thought it was odd someone was in a bar to only nurse a soda, but Nick had pegged him as a fellow hustler, and when he lays thirty on the line, and misses his first shot he knows his assessment is accurate.

Nick isn’t sure how to approach the man, a fellow hustler, he’s played more than his share before, but this man is calculating, watching him with a smile to see what Nick does. Nick takes the lure hanging on the hook and wins the game easily, the man’s smile growing exponentially till he’s an odd mimic of the Joker.

The man ups the bet to double or nothing, and pulls no punches in the next game, so close that it’s a narrow win for Nick, and a part of him thinks the man let him have it. He’s waiting, for the next bet, instead, the man strokes a finger down his cue, requesting that Nick come again sometime. He’s left with a parting, “Name’s Troy, by the way,” and a disgustingly large sum of money that was far more than he bet.

The next time Nick is in San Diego, Troy is there, at his first stop. It wouldn’t be a problem if he didn’t sidle into Nick’s con with in the first shot. It’s even more humiliating that he lines himself up against Nick’s back, pressing as close to him as humanly possible, wrapping his arms around him and positioning the cue at the ball, stroking it almost phallically, enough that Nick thinks his opponent is having a vision of a threesome in his future. “Come on, Nicky, got to line the shot up, nice and easy,” he says, turning Nick’s name into an endearment he didn’t permit.

First, because he never gave Troy his name. Second, he didn’t like people calling him Nicky, hadn’t liked it since past the age of eight. Yet, here was this asshole, calling him Nicky, and breaking his stride.

Nick has no choice but to take the guy for what he’s worth, a measly twenty dollars, and now his skills are on display to the night’s clubgoers, ruining his bank for the evening. “Dick,” he curses, leaving with no more money then he came with.

He tries to find new clubs to hustle, but Troy always seems to be there, ready to play like some possessive boyfriend, always grabbing Nick by the hips, or the waist, offering him tips on how to shoot. More than once he caresses over Nick’s back to have him bend over the table in a rather sensual manner, and Nick has to ask if in Troy’s mind he’s giving advice or filming a porn movie.

It comes to blow after the fifth club that Nick tries to play, and Troy blows it for him.

Nick has had his share of fights before, he’s had his share of romps in the hay when he was high, and some with the goal to get high. He can honestly say he’s never, till that night, combined the experiences into one explosive night. Half the time, he’s not sure what’s happening, or how they get to a hotel. He’s not sure if they’re punching each other, strangling each other, or fucking each other. He knows a lamp breaks at some point, and the mattress is somehow moved towards the floor in their frantic movements, but, if asked, he couldn’t say what was going on during that moment.

The next time he’s in San Diego, there’s no question. The second Troy saunters up to him, Nick tosses the cue down, grabs him by the tacky red flannel he’s always wearing, and pointedly tells him to cut the shit; that’s the first time Nick can say he’s had sex in a public restroom.

Nick knows he has an addictive personality.

Nick knows he’s addicted to pool, addicted to hustling, but worst of all, he becomes addicted to Troy.

At the end of the day, he needs, wants Troy and Troy wants him, and together, they’ll take every pool hall for all it’s worth, as long as they’re together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's that! I hope you guys enjoyed! All kudos and comments are super appreciated.
> 
> Thank you for reading.
> 
> Up next: Youtuber AU


	6. Youtuber AU (T)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nick, Nick-lodeon, Clark and Troy, Ottomatic, Otto, have refuted claims and speculation that the two of them are dating.
> 
> When asked to comment both youtubers deny that anything is going on, claiming they’ve talked once outside of their vlogs, but have no friendship beyond that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoo. Here is number 6 in my prompt list, a youtuber AU that was kind of a special request.
> 
> Admittedly, this is one of two prompts so far that I have written that might get a longer expanded story. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy!

“..Hey, guys, it’s Nick...so a little out of my rotation this week, when I upload this video it’ll still be my normal Monday Q&A line up, just this video will be posted before my Twitter tags questions. That being said, you guys all seem to remember the video I posted about six months ago called ‘Detoxing is shit’ in response to the ‘Drug Addiction is all in your head’ video…

...Apparently, my video raised some startling things to you guys. Among support, I got lots of real nasty comments telling me not to comment on shit i don't know about, how do you know what it’s like? I was addicted to marijuana and never experienced the stuff in your video...among the numerous questions asking if I was an expert...well, in a way I am. While I thought I made myself pretty explicitly clear in my Detox video, it seems i need to be even more blunt…”

Nick shifts in his chair, folding out his arms, showing the camera the numerous amount of scarred over track marks.

“Hi, I’m Nick, and I was heavily addicted to heroin for five years..”

He sighed, putting the finishing touches on the video, mainly an opening and ending to it, before adding it to his queue for Monday. His Q&As were always the easiest, most could be done in one continuous shot when he really got going, so editing time was basically five minutes.

Of course, now he needed to do a reacts video. It was already Saturday, and his reacts went up on Wednesday, and after his computer failed mid-edit of his reaction to a feminist video about all men dying to create a better world, he needed something to replace it, till he could retrieve the files and see what damage was done. Logically, he could just do it now, but the video had been abhorrent and he had no wish to relive it at the moment, so instead he went to his messages, scrolling through to see what people wanted him to watch.

There was a tone of requests for him to watch a couple of overzealous Christians talking about how only God could pleasure them. A few for him to watch My Strange Addiction or Toddlers and Tiaras; jokes on his subscribers, Alicia loved Toddlers and Tiaras, he’d seen enough. Another was demanding he watch an animal rights activist talk about how eating people would be more environmentally friendly. But the one that stood out, was the most requested, seemed more appropriate given that he uploaded short horror films on Friday’s, once a month. His last one, Fear, had been featured in numerous lists as one of the top scariest, startling, short films outside of YouTube Red.

The request was to watch a video called, “How I’d survive a Zombie Apocalypse.”

Apparently, whatever was said in the video had made it go viral, drove the twitter-verse insane, and now he must watch it.

So he clicks to the channel called OttoMatic, and watches.

The youtuber, who has well over fifteen million subscribers, sits in a barn, an actual barn, as a chicken just hops on by him as he introduces the video as answers to questions tagged on twitter with a zombie theme. Before he can go more than a minute in, he’s scrolling down to the comments, raising a brow at ones that say the guy in the video might be a real life psychopath, and someone should call the FBI about this. It’s around that time he remembers he needs to record his reactions and goes for his camera, setting it up, hitting record. He does his intro quick and turns back to the screen, hitting play.

“First question,” Ottomatic says, picking up the chicken, tossing it down to the ground below. “Would I kill someone in the apocalypse? Yeah! In a heartbeat! They say the meek will inherit the earth, but that’s bullshit, because people like me shoot the meek.”

Nick raised a brow as he watched, silence, more than actual speaking. It was okay though, his silent reactions would be great for editing. Not only would this guy shoot the meek, he’d also kill someone of each race just to see if there were time variations to how fast people would become zombies, a point a lot of people was calling out as blatantly racist.

Nick had a reaction alright, and he’d see this video posted on Wednesday.

-

“..everyone has been sending me links to a user, Nick-lodeon, real original there, who reacted to my zombie Q&A, asking that I react to it. To be honest, no one has ever sent me reactions to my videos before, my father’s yes, but not mine..so I’m going to watch this..”

Nick sat back, tossing popcorn into his mouth. He had his camera recording, but he didn’t really have any intention of doing a reaction to a reaction. Admittedly, he had good reactions to the first video, so he was thinking he could make some stock footage to edit into other videos while watching this one.

Ottomatic is sitting in what is the plainest bedroom Nick has ever seen, and thinks he should get back to the barn. He tilts his head when he hears his own voice asking what the point of the experiments would be? Would it be straight out murder? Or is there an actual premise behind it? Why are you timing time of death? What lead you to that point? Are you killing the people yourself or having henchmen do it? These were all the questions Nick needed to know.

“Mix of both stupid and good questions, since I did say in my original video that this is based on a global infection, so I already know everyone is infected. But I suppose, given the definition of murder in modern society, it would be considered murder, as you may recall, I didn't say they were volunteers. In a world gone to shit I doubt people would be lining up to get shot or stabbed in the chest for science. As for leading me to that point? I’ve always enjoyed science, so really, there’s no need for preamble to it.”

All in all, Nick feels like they get off pretty scotch free until the end. Ottomatic is fairly kind until he scrolls through Nick’s channel, his videos, specifically the one where he admits that he was a herion addict. The traction that video got was amazing, he’d already had one of those daytime doctor shows reach out to him, wanting to make an episode about drug addictions for parental and teens watching.

“Boom, he’s a junkie and looks like he’s got a bit of Mexican in him. Hey, Nicky-lodeon, hit me up, when the end of days comes, I’ll kill you first,” he winks, and that’s the end of the video.

Nick knows, to the bottom of his soul, Ottomatic is trolling him. It takes him less than five seconds research to see the majority of Ottomatic’s subscribers were there because Ottomatic’s father was neo-nazi end of days prepper, and they were all waiting for Ottomatic to do something problematic; so he was trolling. Not only that, most of Ottomatic’s videos were weapons reviews, tutorials on weapons, proving he might be just as crazy as his father. He’s not going to rise to the troll, until he is.

Nick’s never really wanted to have a vlog section in his channel, beyond his Q&As, but he’s pissed enough to grab his camera and take off down his street, holding it out in front of him. “Hey, guys, it’s Nick here, I…” he pauses, looking around, before inspiration strikes. “..I’m taking a walk today. Thought it’d be nice to get out, and then I thought, a lot of you ask me about my day to day, if I travel, what I eat, random shit, so this is a new series, a vlog series of just that. Honestly, it’s probably going to be boring shit like chores and stuff, but I hope you guys will stick around. I'll do vlogging Sundays, and maybe even do some live vlogs. We’ll see how it goes.”

Apparently, Nick pulled the right move. Two weeks go by before he starts getting an influx of messages from his subscribers telling him he needs to watch Ottomatic’s new Target practice video. Ottomatic had a series on weapons, his last month had been dedicated to bow work, and he’d recently acquired a new crossbow that he was trying out. The point of Nick watching was specifically the target on the hay was his own face, which Ottomatic then proceeded to shoot before turning to the camera with a smile, saying, “Some men just can’t rise to the challenge, so you step on them.”

Nick ignored Ottomatic, and got shot in the face.

He grabbed up his camera, called up his sister, and took to the boulevard.

“...so many of you guys have been asking to see Hollywood boulevard, so here we are, with my little sister Alicia..”

Ottomatic’s response to that is a blog of his own, taking shots at every place Nick visited in the blog. Telling Nick that not only did Ottomatic live in California, but he lived somewhere nearby, in LA, or San Diego, realistically, he could even live in San Francisco, and just made the drive down. It also told him that Ottomatic was a lot like himself, petty, easily annoyed, and that if Nick hadn’t been ignoring him to get a rise out of him, then Ottomatic would have done it. Either way, they were officially in a youtube feud that had their combined subscribers foaming at the mouth. Off camera, Nick things they’d probably make good friends.

Nick even goes out of his way to buy flannel, and a number of stuffed chickens online to do a sketch type of vlog in his backyard; his mom raised a questioning brow when he dragged hay through the house.

Ottomatic, in turn, slicked his hair back, wore a shirt a size too big with jeans, Nick’s go to casual style.

Some viewers thought they were immature, others thought they were clearly faking all of this for views, even more thought they were hilarious. Buzzfeed had already done an article on them, the top ten moments in Nicotto youtube fight, including twitter reactions to everything they did.

It’s Ottomatic that reaches out first. Nick’s never bothered to learn his real name, but Troy--because that is his name--introduces himself in the message, asking if Nick wanted to fuck with their viewers a bit.

They decide on Vegas, opting to get a room together because it’d be cheaper in the long run, and when Nick tells Alicia, she demands to go, and bring Matt, so it’s a four way split. They choose Caesars and away their plan goes.

The moment they arrive, they find a place in the lobby, a circular area to sit near, Troy on one side, and Nick on the other, both of them vlogging simultaneously. “Hey guys, it’s Nick, and I’m here at Caesars palace! I won’t be back till Monday, so you won’t see this vlog till Tuesday. Sorry about that!” he moves the camera to catch Troy in the background, almost laughing when he knows the guy is doing the same.

That’s how they spend their weekend in Vegas, vlogging, while making sure the other is in the background, pretending like they don’t even realize it. They even glide across Slotzilla together, soaring over Fremont Street, not even acknowledging each other on camera. They even get insane, picking slots at the 4Queens, clogging while sitting less than a foot from each other. Nick even goes as far to tell his viewers, “I’m having no luck tonight, but the guy next to me is winning big…”

Off camera, it turns out, Troy is kind of a great guy, if not a bit of a prick, like Nick thought. He’s born and raised on a ranch in San Diego, and got into the youtube life because of his father, who wanted to go from infomercial scouting for his end of days crap--TEOTWAWKI, he calls it--to a wider audience. After age 18, Troy wasn’t to interested in continuing his father’s propaganda machine and took to vlogging about farm life, then video games, really boring stuff, but people watched because of his father, waiting for him to drop a slur, or the n-word, or anything really. It expanded to weapon reviews from there, and even some practical prepping advice that wasn’t just gathering MREs in a bunker.

He doesn’t drink, or smoke, actually hates the stuff, and guides Nick towards slot machines away from smokers. In fact, he looks for casinos that are less busy just to find a private corner. On Saturday night, Nick finally talks him into at least have a slushie drink, which was really, minimal alcohol. He feels bad for all of two seconds that he peer pressured Troy into it, before they get lost in the fun of Vegas, taking in the water show at the Bellagio, and the volcano at the Mirage. They wander all the way down to Circus Circus, and eat pretzels and popcorn, and have just one more drink.

When they come out, it’s when Nick gets his next big idea when he sees a speck of something coming from the Stratosphere. He drags Troy along to the hotel--Nick thinks they wander something like ten miles when all said and done--where they find out that the thing Nick saw is a free fall from the 108th floor. He forks over $150 to do it, complete with pictures and video, and he makes Troy do it too, despite the man fighting him the entire way; Troy has no urge to jump off the building.

That’s why Nick makes him go first, not being able to control his laughter as they rig Troy up. “I hate you, I seriously hate you,” he yells back as the lady tells him she’s releasing the cable that was tethering him to the building, forcing him to walk to the edge. Troy hesitates on the edge, looking down, God only knows how many feet in the air, to nothing but ground. The worker has to count down three times before Nick sees Troy disappearing over the edge, cursing his name all the way down.

Nick has no hesitation in it. The minute they countdown he jumps, relishing in the air that goes rushing over him as he stares at the sights of Vegas around him, alight, on fire with frivolous sin. The second he’s on the ground Troy is on him, hugging him, hating him, cursing his name in the next three lifetimes. The things that happen that night is something that will stay between him and Troy; and maybe Alicia, if she came back early enough.

**Nick “Nick-lodeon” Clark and Troy “Ottomatic” Otto Deny claims of a relationship**

Nick, Nick-lodeon, Clark and Troy, Ottomatic, Otto, have refuted claims and speculation that the two of them are dating, despite appearing in the background of each other’s blogs regularly since a mysterious trip to Vegas just three months ago.

Both youtubers are popular for very different reasons, but fans came together just five months ago when a feud started between the youtubers, sparked by a reaction video Nick put out there, talking about Troy’s Q&A about a zombie apocalypse. Since then, the two have hurled insults back in forth in ways such as throwing darts, or in Troy’s case, shooting arrows, at pictures of each other. Dressing like each other, or vlog stalking the locations the other visited.

However, everything changed when Nick-lodeon uploaded a vlog of a Vegas Vacation he took with younger sister Alicia, recording at popular locations such as Caesars Palace, the Bellagio, the M&M store, and even jumping off the Stratosphere hotel. Perceptive fans immediately jumped on this vlog, noticing a figure in the background who looked, mysteriously like Nick’s youtube rival, Ottomatic.

Coincidentally, Ottomatic uploaded his own Vegas vlog just one day after Nick’s, and wouldn’t you know it, a figure looking like the younger youtuber is seen in the backdrop of Troy’s own vlog; Troy incidentally also features him jumping off the Stratosphere. While many fans wrote this off as just that, coincidence, other fans were determined to prove there was a relationship between the two. Pulling up later vlogs of Nick visiting Santa Monica pier, claiming to see Troy in the background, enjoying a pretzel. Likewise, receipts of vlogs taken from Troy’s usual ranch location, claim to show Nick in the background, sitting on a fence or the back of a pickup truck.

When asked to comment both youtubers deny that anything is going on, claiming they’ve talked once outside of their vlogs, but have no friendship beyond that.

So, what do you guy thinks? No relationship? Or cleverly disguised rouse to throw us off the trail? Comment below with your opinions and don’t forget to subscribe and hit that like button for all the latest in youtuber news.

I’m your host Jessica Bryant, until next time!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there it is! All comments and kudos are extremely appreciated. Did you like it and want to see it expanded? Let me know!
> 
> Up next: Bookshop AU

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading. I do hope you enjoyed this oneshot! All kudos and comments are appreciated!
> 
> Up Next: Royal!AU


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